


The Life of The "Lifeless"

by pee_poncho



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pee_poncho/pseuds/pee_poncho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Society is cruel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life of The "Lifeless"

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys so this is my first post on A03 so if anyone reads this and gives some constructive criticism I would be so glad!

I smell sweat; it causes me to choke and gag. I look around me, a teeming mass of people, all mindless drones; all with a destination in mind, and only one. Most men wear formal suits that look too uncomfortable to be possible; the women are all wearing pencil skirts with blouses. They are all engraved with blank expressions, none stopping to say, “Hello, how do you do?” or a “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

 

No. They all seemed trapped in their own cage, heads filled with their timetable for the day; the usual routine of work, eat, sleep.

 

I shudder in disgust at all these empty shells, the torture they’re all subjected to. Locked in their own minds, the key somewhere in the deepest, darkest bowels of the Chairman’s drawer. 

 

The Chairman, he wields all the power. A flick of his finger, he unlocks the lock on a certain employee’s minds, said employee now with a false sense of freedom, before it all crashes down on him or her in a few days. When that happens, they will have nothing left to live for. Just self-loathing skeletons, driven by their own hunger for life, the will to live. 

 

Why did Mother ever want me to lead this kind of life? It’s horrible, filthy, it’s society.

 

Why do they not accept my life as normal?

 

They all think that they’re the best, the ones that my kind should live up to. But the truth, what they fail to see, is that they are all wrong.

 

Oh, so wrong.

 

Since birth, everyone’s personality is like an empty canvas. Then from that point onwards, it either gets painted, or tainted. The people who know the true feeling of happiness, like I do, they paint the minds around them. They splash their personality, their traits, give them some of themselves, all in hope to make them better; to make them see the truth that is invisible to everyone else. 

 

The tainting ones, however, they take their treacherous, filthy acid, splash it all over the canvas, destroying the other’s hard work. Then, the battle starts, to win the person onto their side. But, even the strongest of canvasses can only take so much. Paint, then acid, then paint, then acid. The canvas, before it can fully shine in the beauty it was made to uphold, starts to break, starts to melt into a picture of proportionate nightmares. It sits in a puddle of liquid on the floor, broken, battered, never to be beautiful again.

 

Whatever, I think.

 

In the middle of the grey mass, however, I see her. In the middle of the hollow beings, she is full of life. Now, nothing matters but her. All decked in the bright, fresh colours of paint, with not a single speck of acid anywhere. She’s like an angel, the light at the end of the tunnel. She is my paintbrush, she helps me, guides me, loves me. 

 

She never lets me down, not even when I, regrettably, let the acid on my canvas get to me. She stretches out a welcoming hand, beckons me forward; and before I realise it, my feet shuffle forward, and I’m standing in front of her.

 

Up close, she radiates beauty even more.

 

Her silky black tresses, her cream coloured flesh, her long, flowing white satin dress. Her, crystal blue eyes, staring deep into my soul, sucking me in. She’s is my personal paint palette, my special blend of the best shades of happiness. Her slightly hooked nose, one of the things that hook onto me and pull me in. Her full lips, so pink and plump, stretching into the most beautiful of smiles. I’m utterly, horribly, irrefutably captivated. She soothes me in times of need, when I get poisoned by society. 

 

Sighing in happiness, I tear off a small piece of the hem of her dress.

 

One more step closer.

 

I reach out for her head, she smiles heartwarmingly and tilts her head towards me. I gratefully pluck out a small handful of her hair- carefully of course, I wouldn’t ever, ever dream of hurting her- and place the hair in the piece of smooth material in my other hand. 

 

Almost there. 

 

I roll up the satin with the hair in it, and fumble in my pocket for a lighter. Sensing my distress and urgency, she offers her palm. On it, a burst of flame appears and she motions with her head towards my hand, eyes flickering towards the satin and back towards her hand again. I get the message and put one end of the rolled satin towards the dancing embers on her palm. The satin with the hair lights up, and smoke slowly starts to form. I place the cloth between my lips, eager to finally have a taste again. I inhale deeply, savouring the full taste of my drug. I sigh in bliss.

 

It’s been so long.

 

I revel in the temporary ecstasy that this brings me, and my mind is quickly filled with a foggy haze, making the true lifeless people fade out into the background, and only she is left. She seems weightless, perfect, and beautiful in every way. She has my heart, she is my heart.

 

See, this is what society prevents. The darned nobles, the royalty, the top dogs, they ban my happiness for their own. They take me down, tear my life apart, rip my only source of heaven from my meagre clutches. Then, when they’re done destroying and completely incinerating my only motivation for living, they laugh. They group together, the upper echelons of evils, and screech with their high pitches, looking down at us peasants with amusement in their eyes, like we’re the dirt under their shoes. And once this is all done, they call it justice. They call it righteousness, goodwill, for the betterment of the world. They consider it an improvement if the truly happy ones under their rule are eradicated, destroyed and gone for good, like rats in a sewer. 

 

I sigh. If that’s what they call society, I am well, and truly, disappointed.


End file.
